


That Kind of a Day

by chinesebakery



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Episode Fix-it, Episode Related, F/M, Mutual Pining, Season/Series 03, episode 314, prompt, watchdogs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-04
Updated: 2016-04-04
Packaged: 2018-05-31 07:22:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6461128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chinesebakery/pseuds/chinesebakery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"This is gonna sting," Jemma unnecessarily warns before dabbing at the raw burn on his neck with a cool compress.</p><p> What may have happened after the end of "Watchdogs" (redux).</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Kind of a Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [agentcalliope](https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentcalliope/gifts).



> All the thanks to agentcallipe for beta-reading once more.

"This is gonna sting," Jemma unnecessarily warns before dabbing at the raw burn on his neck with a cool compress. The adrenaline surge has long subsided and the pleasant numbness went along with it. It smarts enough that he wants to snap at her for it, but he settles for grinding his teeth instead.

The part of him that's not nervously exhausted is keenly aware of Jemma's face, inches away from his, her idle hand resting in his cheek. Their thighs are touching; it's the closest they've stood together since he came back from Maveth and the intimacy of their stance is messing with his head.

Fitz wills his eyes away and fixes them to the other side of the room and through the glass pane, where he can see Daisy waiting in the hallway, looking worried and chastened. He keeps his gaze on her and it's almost enough to take his mind away from Jemma's fingers testing the texture of his bristled cheek. He's not quite sure she's aware she's doing it.

Jemma snaps her gloves away and the sound brings his attention back to her. The smell of hydrogen peroxide fills the room and he wonders if that acrid scent, so long associated in his mind with stolen glances of her, will ever lose the erotic appeal it holds for him.

Their eyes meet and she can't seem to look away fast enough. Still, he knows her so well he can read her mood in an instant and this one's easy to decipher– she's boiling inside.

"I'm sorry," he says, and hopes it's enough to appease her because he's not in the mood to grovel.

"What are you sorry for, Fitz?" Her voice is tense under the thin layer of professional coolness.

"Err, for nearly imploding, I guess?" When she doesn't respond, he concedes, "I should have called you earlier."

"Mmhmm," she says absently.

"I didn't want to upset you," he tries again. It's not exactly wrong, but nowhere near right either.

"Oh? Why would I be upset?" Sarcasm never suited her voice– it annoys him every time she resorts to it. No, Jemma's voice is meant for eager enthusiasm, imperious lectures and, he likes to believe, a more private kind of discourse.

The next time their gazes meet, her eyes are fierce fire. 

He almost died earlier –which, admittedly, is not as exceptional an occurrence as it might be for most people– and he's both drained and agitated and she shouldn't test his limits. Not today. 

Isn't that enough that he accepted her deal to reset their relationship, whatever that means, and shoved his goddamned feelings deep down once more? 

He's accepted that they're just not meant to happen, which doesn't mean she can look at him  _ this way _ and expect him  _ not _ to want to shove her against the nearest wall. What kind of grown man becomes aroused at the sight of a woman looking like she might throttle him, anyway?

Her chest is rising with each breath, too fast, too hard, and it makes his insides twitch in response. They were always good at fighting together, and he can't account for the number of times he provoked her needlessly, just for the thrill of it. 

When she bites her lips –the full, plump lips which feel and taste he can't erase from his memory– it becomes clear that he needs to make himself scarce before he embarrasses himself one way or another.

"I don't know, Jemma," he says in a world-weary voice he doesn't need to fake, even if it comes out a little more breathless that he would like. "I'm tired. Really tired."

Her eyes widen and she takes a sudden step back.

"Oh. Yes. Of course," she mutters, her hand flying to her neck which suddenly looks flushed, as do her cheeks.

"Are we good?" He asks before he has a chance to realize how loaded that sounds.

"Why wouldn't we be?" Jemma eludes his question and turns her back to him, moving some medical supplies around in an unusually callous manner. She doesn't look back as he slips down from the examination table he's been sitting on, nor when he clears his throat once he's reached the door.

"Everything okay?" Daisy eagerly asks when he joins her in the hallway. 

He answers with a nod. 

"That kind of a day, uh?" She asks again in a forcefully light tone.

"That kind of a year," he grumbles and starts walking, as far away from the med bay as his steps will take him.


End file.
